This Great Unraveling World
by Unmasking-the-Architect
Summary: Temporal friction seemed impossible, but after a dead-eyed monster and suspiciously familiar characters are spotted in illogical places, a terrible realization must be acknowledged: time is being rearranged, and the only person who can stop it is the one who is causing the timelines to bleed together...and he's in no mood for mercy.
1. Chapter 1

**This Great Unraveling World**

 _ **Author's Note:** Good evening. A few brief notes: 1) This is my own interpretation of W.D. Gaster, which is partially inspired by the **Handplates** fanfiction, created by Tumblr user **zarla,** as well as YouTuber **v0idless** 's "Echo" animation. I recommend both as highly as possible. 2) My interpretation does not include Gaster as the father of Sans and Papyrus. Please don't ask for it. 3) Events in this story will deviate slightly from the game's timeline, but hey, isn't that the point? I hope you enjoy This Great Unraveling World. Love, the Architect_

* * *

 **Entry #1**

I'm trying something new today.

* * *

 **Entry #2**

This is an idea that I've been turning over for some time now. While my last attempt was an unparalleled disaster, resulting in the destruction of the Core, the temporal carnage that followed, and my own near-ruination…. This will be better.

This has to be better.

I have nobody left to promise, and so I will have to be content with promising myself. Historically, this has had similar results, but this time will be different.

This time I will not give up.

This time I will succeed.

I have nothing left to lose.

* * *

 **Entry #3**

I have created the initial blueprints.

What wouldn't I give to have my old laboratory back…clean, well-lit, with assistants and funding and privacy that can be achieved without barricading myself in.

I must not get distracted.

Focus.

…I wish I knew where I was.

* * *

 **Entry #4**

How long has it been since I last made an entry? I'm stretched thin, I can feel the edges of myself fraying. I do not need sleep but I miss it terribly. I want to keep working, but my thoughts are sand in the wind, scattered at the wills of the elements. I am a temporal prisoner and all my realities hinge on my success.

* * *

 **Entry #5**

I have no heart to beat, I barely have a body to work with. What is it that's keeping me going?

Determination?

…A joke.

A failed experiment.

That's all.

* * *

 **Entry #6**

I've finally gotten the first one stabilized.

It was an ordeal, but as I've suspected, this state of existence is one that places me outside of the limitations placed upon corporeal vessels. I don't need to sleep. I don't need to eat. I don't feel cold…I don't feel warm. Incidentally, forty-hour procedures are no longer the physically taxing experiments they had once been. Innumerable advantages, no clear downsides as of now.

I can do without the sensations of touch. It's not like there's anyone around to

I've established a laboratory here, wherever Here is. It is rudimentary, without many of the tools I had previously viewed as essentials. This only proves to serve how much of my genius I had underestimated: before the accident I would never have thought any of this possible.

This is the first of many similar procedures. I am growing steadily more confident in my abilities and in the potential success of this experiment. It will change everything for the better if when I get enough. They aren't easy to come by, but I suspect that, like many other things, acquiring them will become easier with practice.

The readings are steady.

My mind is weary. It's good to relax.

* * *

 **Entry #7**

Failure.

Will try again tomorrow.

A setback, but nothing more.

Success is eventual.

After all, I have all the time in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Something's wrong."

"What is it?"

"One of my students hasn't shown up to class for days now. I cannot help but think that something's happened." Toriel massaged one hand with the other distractedly, a crease between her dark eyes.

"Probably caught a cold or something," Sans put in, not looking up from the book he was immersed in. "Little kids are bacteria farms on legs, I'm sure they're fine."

" _No,_ " Toriel insisted, and there was a note of urgency in her voice that tugged his attention away from the pages. "I can feel it, something has happened."

"Talk to the parents, then," Sans suggested, turning his head to watch her pacing up and down. "Maybe the kid got tired of math lessons and decided to go play with some spiders, or go exploring." She shot him an impatient look and he softened his voice. "Look, Tori, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. If the kid was missing or something, wouldn't an alarm have been raised by now?"

She paused, her broad shoulders slumping. "I do not mean to worry so…perhaps it's simply something that old ladies do to pass the time. You're probably right."

"Ah, everyone worries. The important thing is not to let it get your goat." He winked and she groaned through her laughter.

"I will stop by their house when I'm out today with Frisk," she decided aloud. "Speaking of which…. We should be on our way shortly. I will see you later." She squeezed his hand and he responded in kind, watching her as she left the room to find the human. The gesture was as intimate a thing as they ever shared, but the affection behind the simple touch was powerful and deep-rooted.

Sans heard Toriel calling for Frisk, answered by the clatter of tiny feet running haphazardly down the stairs, so careless and quick that Toriel's smiling voice was the only thing to indicate that Frisk had not flung themselves down the stairs instead. "Have fun, you two," he called.

The footsteps pattered into the living room and Frisk, bright-eyed as ever, scrambled up onto the couch to give him a hug before leaping off the cushions and sprinting out of the room. "Hey Tori!"

She stuck her head around the corner. "Yes, Sans?"

"You give the kid coffee or something?"

She shook her head, her ears wagging slightly from side to side. "They told me that they're having a good day so far." She looked back to where he presumed Frisk was standing, probably bouncing impatiently near the door. "We'll be back." She turned to go but stopped when Sans spoke again.

"Hey Tori, if you see your student's parents, let me know what they say."

* * *

A cool breeze rattled the bare branches of the trees as Toriel walked through the snow, pausing every now and again to watch Frisk clomping along with comically high steps, occasionally briefly discarding their mittens to sign vehemently when she offered to carry them through a particularly deep drift.

 **Too big,** Frisk insisted, and she smiled indulgently as they put their gloves back on to soldier determinedly through the thigh-deep mounds.

It was a pleasant walk, serene in the winter quiet, the snowflakes settling in lacy patterns in Frisk's dark hair before being shaken or pawed off. Toriel debated for a moment, wondering how much to tell the child about the extra errand she had to complete before they were able to return home. If there was nothing wrong, if she was creating a mountain out of a molehill, she didn't want to alarm Frisk with shadowy cautions of missing children and lurking danger. However, if something _had_ happened to her student, if there _was_ a threat, she would take on every monster in every timeline before she let anything get to Frisk.

"Come here, my child," she called softly after another second of thought.

Frisk offered a compromise of obedience, stopping where they stood several yards ahead and waiting until she came closer before taking a lunging step or two to close the distance.

"I must stop and speak to the parents of one of my students," she said. "It may take a little while, but I promise you won't have to wait too long. Do you understand?"

Frisk nodded, a few snowflakes bouncing off their hair before they trotted back to the frozen rock they had been inspecting. There had been no trace of worry to darken their bright eyes, no sign of a frown across their young face, but Toriel didn't feel any better.

* * *

She paused by the small house on the journey home, holding Frisk's mittened hand in hers as she knocked on the door. She knew where this particular student lived because on more than one occasion, she had seen him playing in the yard while his parents sat outside, as well as having crossed paths when out running errands. They were good monsters, soft-spoken and almost shy.

The door creaked open and a warm breeze passed over them, providing a welcome heartbeat of warmth before the cold stole around them once again. "Miss Toriel," said the mother with a slightly bewildered smile. "What brings you out here?"

"I was in the area and I thought I would stop by and inquire how Aldama is doing," Toriel said, unsure if she should smile or not. "He hasn't been to school these last few days and I had been wondering if he has fallen ill."

The mother frowned and smiled at the same time, her brows drawing together while her smile took on a note of confusion. "Aldama?"

"Yes," Toriel repeated, her stomach beginning to churn anxiously. "I know that perhaps it is not my business, but I was—am—concerned."

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about," the mother said.

"Your child." Wild explanations for this bizarre turn of events chased themselves through her mind—the wrong house, the wrong parents, the wrong child—but deep down she knew that she was in the right place, with the right name, talking to the right person.

"I'm afraid you must be confused, Miss Toriel," the mother said firmly. "I have no children. Good day to you, and to you, Frisk."

She shut the door.

Toriel stared at the wooden planks for a long moment before taking a tighter hold on Frisk's hand and heading back the way she had come. Her thoughts were turbulent and growing ever darker, and for once she paid no attention to Frisk's curious one-handed signs. She practically towed them through the snow in her haste to get back to her home, back to Sans, back to someone who might help her figure out what was going on. So many things had gone _wrong_ in that conversation, brief as it was. Aldama, for all evidence his mother had given, had simply disappeared from existence. But how? _How?_ The word echoed over and over in Toriel's mind, not fading but growing louder with each panicked repetition, and before she knew it, she was running.


End file.
